


Study Buddies

by kenzsza



Series: College AU [1]
Category: Hades (Video Game 2018), The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Confessions, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Homophobic Language, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Secret Crush, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:34:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29187144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenzsza/pseuds/kenzsza
Summary: Patroclus is crushing hard on the classmate he's tutoring.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Hades Video Game), Achilles/Patroclus (Song of Achilles)
Series: College AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2146224
Comments: 36
Kudos: 321





	1. Chapter 1

Patroclus worked two jobs to get himself through school, one of which being a fast food job he swore to quit the very second he graduated the next year. 

It was everything he hated: pretending to be friendly to rude entitled customers, uncomfortable and ridiculous uniforms, and the constant stench of grease and cooking meat. Patroclus felt he still smelled like French fries even when he got home and scrubbed himself thoroughly in the shower. But it paid for some of his tuition and there was some free food in the mix, so beggars couldn't really be choosers. 

The second job was as a tutor at his college. 

He'd been a top student in all of his science and math classes, and it earned him a part time position helping other students struggling in his footsteps. Patroclus only had a few time slots open a week in what spare time he had between losing years of his life manning a cash register and pouring all his brain power into class work. One student in particular always showed up on his agenda, to the point where Patroclus grew fond of him and they exchanged contact information. 

Achilles, a freshman with an undecided major but enough ambition and charisma to fit into any career path he would eventually choose. 

Patroclus smiles at the thought as he goes over Achilles' homework before their session, noticing the wrong marks from his professor and trying to work backwards to see where exactly he'd gone wrong. Statistics wasn't the class for everyone, and especially not for Achilles. Not when his mind was left in track practice. He'd first showed up on Patroclus' schedule the second week of school after failing his first assignment, and they'd been meeting regularly since. 

Although… Patroclus liked to think they weren't just mentor and pupil. He had Achilles' name in his contacts as _Favorite Statistics Failure_ with little sparkle and heart emojis next to his name (that was all Achilles' fault, of course- he had the strangest sense of humor) and ate lunch with him almost every day. Achilles liked to boast about his wins during meets while gesturing wildly, and Patroclus enjoyed sitting with his knees hugged to his chest as he listened. They'd run into each other a little too often to be coincidence, and Patroclus couldn't help but wonder if Achilles somehow knew his schedule after they'd hung out so many times on campus. 

One time Patroclus had told Achilles he didn't need to formally set up tutoring anymore- not when they saw each other all the time, but Achilles laughed it off and said he would rather Patroclus be paid by the school to help him study. That he saw Patroclus as a friend, but Achilles wanted Patroclus to earn money mentoring him rather than spend what tiny bit of time he had to himself assisting Patroclus. 

It was the middle of the semester before Patroclus realized he was falling hard for his peer. 

Patroclus frowns and sets aside Achilles' homework for now. Deciphering his handwriting was a futile effort, and Patroclus' mind was wandering. His focus had wavered as soon as he saw the stars Achilles scribbled on the borders of his paper. He hadn't been able to help but wonder if his friend stuck his tongue out in concentration when he did it, similar to when he was focusing hard on a particular problem. And any remaining possibility of getting work done had flown out the window when Patroclus caught sight of his own name written in a cleaner version of Achilles' handwriting than usual. 

_Patroclus_. He flushes, eyes following the curves of his own name. Patroclus had always thought it was a mouthful, but Achilles made it into something different. Something to be revered. It's written multiple times in slightly different fonts, from normal script to shaky cursive. _Patroclus Patroclus Patroclus_. 

He stands up abruptly, the chair under him screeching in protest as its legs scrape the floor. Patroclus felt searing hot from his face to his stomach. He reaches up to gingerly touch his cheek, sighing helplessly when its warmth is confirmed under his fingertips. 

Yes, Patroclus was hopeless. He had known much earlier than when he'd finally given into his feelings. There had been that fluttering anxiety in his stomach when their eyes locked, the overwhelming joy Patroclus felt when Achilles solved a problem that he never experienced with anyone else. Achilles would gaze off and people watch during their shared lunch, and Patroclus would watch him with unmasked adoration. He was a beautiful person inside and out. Perfect golden curls, a wide white grin, so much compassion and an unending joy for life. Achilles was everything Patroclus could ever want and more. 

Defeatedly, Patroclus crosses his room and slumps onto his bed. He had been having a harder time preparing for tutoring sessions recently. Just seeing Achilles' silly doodles and boyish handwriting made him want to bury his face in his hands. Really, Patroclus would have to do something soon or this man would be the death of him 

His stomach churns with fear: fear of loving someone, fear of being rejected, fear of not knowing what comes next. Achilles was predictable, but it was impossible for Patroclus to know how he'd handle being confessed to by a friend. Did Achilles even like guys? Would he want to hang out with Patroclus if he didn't feel the same way? 

_Did_ he feel the same way? Did Achilles notice the sparks when their arms grazed against each other in line at the cafeteria? Did he feel a shiver up his spine when Patroclus leaned in to whisper something in his ear in the quiet library? Patroclus cannot imagine he doesn't, for there isn't any way the things he experiences are only in his heart. If they were, surely he would have exploded by now. 

But there's that doubt, the one that makes Patroclus roll onto his back and gaze at the ceiling with his mind fixated on his friend. He'd spent many nights in the same position, unable to sleep and so desperately wishing his mattress was weighed down by another. Did Achilles sleep on his stomach? His side? Would he hold Patroclus close while they rested together? 

If Patroclus just closes his eyes… if he puts a hand on his chest and slows his breathing, he can imagine it's Achilles touching him and not himself. With enough focus, those sparkling green eyes are within view and glinting with their usual mischief. Achilles would like to tease. He'd slide his hand up Patroclus' chest, grazing his collarbone and cupping his neck gently before coming to rest on one cheek. 

He'd be a caring lover, Patroclus had decided. Achilles was wild and untamable in everyday life, but alone with Patroclus he always slowed down and seemed to take things one step at a time. Nothing would be rushed. Patroclus inhales sharply as the Achilles in his mind strokes his face mindlessly. His fingers, long and calloused from throwing javelins in competition and plucking at guitar strings, would trace sweet paths from Patroclus' hairline to the corner of his mouth. Their journey is slow but worth it, as it ends with a thumb on Patroclus' lower lip and a mouth coming to join his own around the finger. 

It had felt wrong at first to think of him like this, to let his mind drift and wish the hands trailing up his ribs were more than just Patroclus' imagination. But the more time they spent together, the more difficult it had been to dismiss the nagging at the back of his head when Patroclus pleasured himself. There was the lingering guilt, of course, but Patroclus tried to ignore it as best he could. 

He exhales a soft puff of air against his thumb as his hand-Achilles' hand palms roughly at the front of his jeans. It starts with his palm grinding against Patroclus' crotch, but that could never possibly be enough. Patroclus whines and bucks his hips, and Achilles would decide that was enough teasing as his fingers curl around his bulge and squeeze gently. 

The breath is knocked out of Patroclus. His back arches with desperation, and the Achilles in his head chuckles softly. Green eyes pierce through his own as the thumb on his lip dips into his mouth and runs along his tongue. There's no need for a spoken command, because his gaze says it all. _Suck_. 

Patroclus obeys wordlessly, closing his eyes to escape the sharp twin jades fixated on him. Achilles is so dangerously beautiful in the same way the sun is overwhelming when looked at for too long. Even still, he can feel eyes watching him intently. 

Achilles' fingers are deft and not meant to sit still: they're more often than not gracefully dancing across a computer keyboard or copying the notes of a song onto guitar strings. They nimbly unbutton and unzip Patroclus' jeans. His blissful imagination falters as Patroclus struggles to do it himself with one hand. It's a relief when his erection isn't constrained to tight pants any longer. Patroclus sighs in content, and he knows Achilles would laugh at that as well. 

_So needy_ , he'd say, voice full of adoration. Or perhaps he wouldn't tease Patroclus so. Maybe Achilles would murmur something fonder. _You're perfect, Patroclus_. He'd utter his name the way devoted followers praised their gods. Pa-tro-clus. Every syllable needing to be as distinct as the last. 

Achilles pushes Patroclus' boxers under his balls and grips his cock in his hand. Patroclus chokes with unrestrained pleasure, writhing under his grasp. It burns when Achilles gives him a few languid strokes along his dry shaft. His slight discomfort makes Achilles' gaze twinkle with amusement. There's a thumb rubbing his head harshly, and Patroclus is about to cry out for mercy when Achilles relents. Because he'd always know how much Patroclus could take, and he'd tiptoe that line like a tightrope walker. 

He's suave in this daydream, too. Achilles had already memorized everything in Patroclus' room from his frequent visits to study or laze around, so it would have taken no time to make note where he keeps lube in his bedside table. It's just at the back corner, hidden under some papers-

Patroclus' fingers graze something soft. His eyes shoot open in realization. Just the day before, Achilles had left his sweatshirt draped over the back of Patroclus' desk chair. Patroclus had promised to give it back, and Achilles laughed and admitted he didn't even notice he'd forgotten to take it home. So now it sat neatly folded at the bottom of his drawer. 

Surely it wouldn't be a crime to just… have it nearby? 

He grips the soft cotton and pulls it out of the drawer and close to his face. Patroclus leans his nose into it and inhales. It smells like him. Like sharp cologne and the outside and everything warm and bright. His dick twitches in his hand in excitement. 

Patroclus hurriedly puts the sweatshirt on and pulls the collar over his nose. When his eyes shut again, the image of Achilles hovering over him is clearer than ever. 

_I didn't know you could be so filthy,_ , he chides with a sideways smile. 

"Only for you," Patroclus whispers. "Everything is for you."The smile wavers, green eyes eclipsed by his blown-out pupils. 

Achilles is a caring lover, yes, but an impatient one too. He spreads lube on his palm and takes just enough time to warm it to a more bearable temperature before his hand is around Patroclus' dick once more. His grip is bordering on a bit too tight. Achilles didn't know the extent of his strength, always knocking Patroclus over with a slap on the back or punching his arm playfully and consequently leaving bruises behind. Patroclus had to wear longer sleeves in fear Achilles would notice the marks and stop touching him. 

Patroclus grits his teeth as Achilles begins to stroke him. It's painfully slow and almost uncomfortable with his rough hold on Patroclus' shaft, but Patroclus would sooner die than tell him to stop. His gut is tight with arousal that uncoils into a gentle warmth as Achilles pumps his dick. 

He wants to look at Achilles, he really does, but Patroclus could never keep his eyes open as Achilles pleasures him. He's so far gone, and Achilles' quiet plea for Patroclus to look up at him is met with a low moan. 

_Try for me_ , Achilles breathes. Patroclus' eyes manage to flutter half-open, just enough to notice the dark blush staining Achilles' cheeks and his blond curls sticking to his forehead with sweat. 

Patroclus inhales Achilles' scent deeply once more, and the Achilles in his mind tucks his face into Patroclus' neck. His lips graze his skin, and Achilles would pull the collar of his sweatshirt to the side to press sweet kisses to his exposed shoulder. 

"Achilles," Patroclus says hoarsely. 

_Come for me, Patroclus_ , Achilles replies. It isn't a question to be debated. He's speeding up his hand, the wet slap of his enclosed fist the only sound in an otherwise quiet room. Patroclus feels searing heat spreading all over, but he doesn't want it to be over. Not yet. He whimpers as he tries to stave away his orgasm, hand fisted in the sweatshirt. His dick leaks down the head with the promise of release. 

Achilles takes Patroclus' face in his hand and tilts it towards his own. 

_Now, Patroclus_ , he demands before smashing their lips together. His thumb presses meanly against Patroclus' slit, and Patroclus sobs miserably into his mouth as his orgasm rips through his body like an electric current. He's left gasping for air afterward, a sweaty sated mess. 

"Shit," Patroclus groans, covering his face with his unsullied hand. He was in this a lot deeper than he originally thought. 

… 

"Are you thinking of a girl?" 

Patroclus startles, his pen dropping from his hand. He turns to look at Achilles. His friend has his chin propped in one hand, and his green eyes glitter with curiosity. "What- no, I'm not."

Achilles huffs in disbelief. He's wearing his sweatshirt. Patroclus had given it back to him with the promise it had been washed. _There was no need for that_ , Achilles had snorted, but little did he know… "My mates always have that same look on their face when they're daydreaming of girls," he says pointedly.

Really, they didn't need to be discussing this. One, Patroclus was _technically_ being paid, and two, Achilles had an exam the next morning that he was not at all prepared for. "I'm not thinking of a girl," Patroclus objects with annoyance. 

His friend's eyes narrow. Achilles had gotten better at reading him the past few months. "A boy, then?" 

Patroclus hesitates. He gazes down at the unsolved problem on Achilles' paper, the chicken scratch that constituted his handwriting. He'd never do anything to jeopardize their friendship. 

And yet. 

He meets Achilles' gaze. "Yes," Patroclus replies. "A boy."

Achilles' lips stretch into a wide grin, and Patroclus has to hide his own smile behind his hand. His friend's immediate barrage of questions are met with resistance and the reminder that he needed an A in this class. 

"You'll tell me about this boy later," Achilles demands, picking up his pencil and frowning at Patroclus. 

Patroclus only chuckles. "Perhaps."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some tags have been updated! small warning for some homophobia, but nothing too much

Telling Achilles anything had been a mistake, because now he won't stop pestering Patroclus. 

He asks for more details. First, of course, who the mysterious boy is. _You,_ Patroclus is dying to blurt, but he keeps his lips sealed. He needs time to think over how he will go about stepping over this boundary, perfect the confession just at the tip of his tongue. 

Achilles would embarrass him if he told him who it was, Patroclus lies instead. It seems to do the trick. 

"Then I'll find out myself," Achilles had promised over lunch one day. Patroclus paused mid-chew, sandwich half eaten in his hands as he gazed over his laptop and at his determined friend. "I'll make sure he's good enough for you. Only the best man can date you, Patroclus." 

Patroclus had blushed at that. He sputtered in protest and ducked his head back behind his computer screen while his friend went on about Patroclus deserving someone as wonderful as him, how he would need to have any boyfriend approved by himself. The more he talked the lower Patroclus sank in his seat. Achilles and his sincerity would be the death of him. 

They walk together to class, Patroclus pulling the sleeves of his jacket over his hands to shield himself against the cold. Beside him, Achilles has a scarf wrapped around his neck and carefully placed over his nose and mouth. There's nothing to protect his ears. The tips are a bright red that Patroclus can't help but glance at every now and then. 

"Is he in your major?" Achilles asks. They'd started this strange game of twenty questions where he'd pop a question about the mystery boy and Patroclus would give a one word answer. It irritated Achilles to no end, much to Patroclus' amusement, but a bad answer was better than nothing. 

Patroclus hums thoughtfully and taps his chin. He can sense Achilles' agitation as he pretends to give the question some thought. "No," he says truthfully. Patroclus may want to keep his feelings at bay for now, but he'd never lie to Achilles. "He isn't. Sciences bore him, I think."

Achilles nods in understanding. Patroclus was a biology major with intent to do something in the medical field. What exactly, he wasn't sure of yet. Nursing sounded nice, but Patroclus had always been a little meek around strangers. Any time he talked about medicine or future careers, Achilles' gaze would gloss over with disinterest. "Is he a business major?" 

"No." 

"Good. You can do better than a business major." Patroclus and Achilles share a smile. They continue on in a comfortable silence before Achilles tries again. "Something art related?" 

Patroclus can see his classroom building up ahead. Achilles' class was still a ways down the road, but his friend always insisted they walk together. He was on the track team, Achilles would say when Patroclus protested. He could easily cover the extra half a mile in a minute or two. 

He doesn't want this game to be over, as silly as it is. Patroclus almost never wants to tell Achilles the truth. Watching his friend take so much interest in his life was… endearing. Patroclus worries that when it's over- if Achilles doesn't reject him, of course- that they'll go back to less personal conversational topics. Patroclus wasn't sure he could handle it if all they talked about were Achilles' weekend track meets and how to find the standard deviation of a particular math problem. 

So he shrugs. "He's no good at drawing, and I think he'd be a terrible actor."

Achilles tips his head to one side. "How about music?" 

Patroclus thinks of the guitar propped against his friend's wall in his dorm, of the sheet music spread haphazardly along the floor. The gentle strum of soft love ballads that graced his ears when he did his homework at Achilles' place and the excitement plastered so plainly on Achilles' face when he told Patroclus he'd learned a new song and wanted to play it for him. 

"This is my stop," he says, expertly skirting the question. "I'll see you in a few hours."

Achilles stares. "Wait!" He reaches out to grab Patroclus' wrist, but Patroclus dances out of reach before he can be caught. "So is he a musician or not?!" 

"Bye, Achilles."

He can hear Achilles grumbling under his breath about how unfair Patroclus was as the door shuts behind him. 

… 

"What color is his hair?" 

Patroclus looks up from his textbook, pencil hovering over the page in his notebook. He'd felt Achilles' bore through him while they did homework together in Patroclus' apartment, and he'd simply been waiting for his friend to break. "I can't tell you what he looks like," he objects. "You'll bother every guy on campus with the same hair and eye color."

Achilles sits backwards in Patroclus' desk chair, arms crossed over the back. His face is hidden in his forearms except his eyes, which narrow at Patroclus' reluctance to answer. "So it's an uncommon color?" 

Ah, Achilles had him there. But if Patroclus started describing Achilles in detail, even the hard-headed athlete would be able to figure it out eventually. "No," Patroclus relents. Just one more bit of information wouldn't hurt. "Blond hair."

His stomach drops when his friend's eyes grow big with realization. "Oh! Like me!" Achilles takes a lock of hair and twists it around his finger. He's so cute that it makes Patroclus' heart ache terribly. Or maybe that was just the anxiety of being found out. 

"I guess so, yeah." Patroclus hopes he sounds more dismissive than he thinks. His voice seems so shaky to his own ears. 

"Hmm…" Patroclus is on his stomach doing his work on the floor. Achilles tended to sit wherever pleased him with no care that this wasn't his room, and that usually meant stealing Patroclus' bed or desk. Not like Patroclus minded. He liked this more comfortable position. 

So it takes him by surprise when Achilles' face comes into view. He's slid off the chair and mirrored Patroclus' posture, legs crossed in the air carelessly. 

His eyes are beautiful up close. They sparkle like cut gemstones, a kaleidoscope of greens and golds and blues. Patroclus finds his lips parting as he takes in the sight in front of him, and it takes an effort to close his mouth. 

"Is he as handsome as me?" Achilles teases, grinning wide. Gods, he would really be the death of Patroclus. There's no way to respond to that, nothing that wouldn't incriminate Patroclus immediately. He's trapped in a corner. Maybe Achilles wasn't as dense as he thought he was. If he says yes, this boy is just as handsome, then he's admitting he finds Achilles attractive. And Patroclus would never say no. He can't possibly lie through his teeth like that to someone he cares about so dearly. 

Patroclus swallows and tries to act nonchalant. He picks up a highlighter and streaks yellow over a word just to have something to do with his hands. Yellow, like the golden ringlets that fall in Achilles' eyes when he takes his hair out of its ponytail. "He's… the most handsome boy I've ever met. He's radiant, like the sun. No one could ever compare." 

When he glances up, Achilles' smile has fallen. 

"He sounds marvelous," Achilles says, but his tone is flat and his gaze has hardened. Patroclus stares at him openly. He hadn't hurt his ego, had he? Achilles had never minded being poked at in the past.

Achilles works in a heated silence. He scribbles the steps to his problems more aggressively than usual, his lips set in a straight line. Patroclus offers his input on how Achilles is working towards an answer, and his friend tenses in response instead of the usual light-hearted laugh followed by a 'thank you.' 

Why is he being so weird? Surely he isn't _jealous_? Jealous of himself, Patroclus' brain reminds him helpfully. As if he wasn't already aware of the dilemma he'd put himself in. Leave it to him to mess things up by making Achilles envy himself. 

When he finishes his homework, Achilles packs up his stuff to leave. It's extremely out of the ordinary: usually he'd stay and talk to Patroclus until one of them reluctantly left to see to prior obligations, or Achilles would complain about his stomach growling and drag Patroclus along to go eat somewhere. The sight leaves Patroclus stunned, unable to do anything except watch as Achilles zips up his bag more aggressively than usual. 

He's only shaken from his daze when he feels fingers curl around his wrist. Patroclus startles and looks up into Achilles' eyes. His heart pounds in his chest. Achilles had never looked so intense, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown and his nose wrinkled. 

"Patroclus," he says simply. 

"Achilles." His friend's grip on his arm is gentle, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions on his face. 

Achilles seems to soften at his own name. He lifts Patroclus' wrist and moves his hand to gently cup Patroclus'. His palm is warm and soft, and Patroclus fears his own might be gross and clammy with nerves. Somewhere in the back of his mind there's some sense, a logical voice telling Patroclus that the real issue wasn't how his hand might feel to the boy he likes, it was why exactly Achilles was doing this in the first place. 

"Don't forget about me," Achilles murmurs, his voice softer than Patroclus can remember it ever being before. He lowers his lips to Patroclus' hand and brushes them against his knuckles. "Even with the boy. Even when you graduate. Don't leave me."

Patroclus inhales raggedly. His fingers twitch, and his whole hand tingles where Achilles touches him. "Never," he promises quietly. He's scared that if he speaks louder than a whisper, he might break this strange spell that has settled over them. "I wouldn't dare."

His answer seems to satisfy Achilles. He drops Patroclus' hand as quickly as he'd taken it, and Patroclus feels so much colder than he had before. "Tomorrow at the library? Same time?" Patroclus rubs his hand absently, unable to stop himself from staring at his own fingers. What had just happened? "Oh, I may be a few minutes late, so don't leave if I'm not there. I have a politics exam I have to take." His mood seems to have dissolved, fizzled out into only the kindlings of a raging fire. There’s still the spark of something close to madness in Achilles’ eyes, but his lips are pulled back in his usual lazy smile. Strange. Patroclus had witnessed his bizarre switch in emotions before, but never to this extent.

How could Achilles be so collected when Patroclus felt like he was about to crumble to dust? He nods a little bit, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "Okay." His voice cracks, and Patroclus wants to hide and wither away to nothing. If Achilles notices, he doesn't mention it. 

…

There’s still an edge to his friend the following day and the week that stretches after that. Patroclus catches Achilles watching him intently more than once. Achilles diverts his eyes the first few times, but he eventually stops trying to pretend he hadn’t been staring. 

“Is something wrong with my face?” Patroclus had asked the first time Achilles gave up looking away. 

“No. Never.” Achilles propped his head up on one hand, elbow leaning against the library table. “Is something wrong with mine?” His gaze was cool, steady. There’s a warning in his voice that Patroclus couldn’t quite place.

“What? No, I just-” 

“Can you explain how you did that again?” Achilles interrupted. It was the third time he’d asked Patroclus to go over a particular problem. Each time he’d repeated his steps before, Achilles had gotten closer so he could watch over Patroclus’ shoulder. By now, their arms were pressed together and Achilles was so close that Patroclus could see the light spatter of freckles across his tanned face. It made it difficult to think, and Patroclus stuttered worse the third time around than he had previously.

They work now in the library, Achilles by Patroclus’ side despite the two empty chairs on the other side of the table. Patroclus takes notes on one of his chemistry classes while Achilles lays his head on his arms. He’s drowsy, eyes half closed after studying all night- or so he claims. 

“Do you see him often?” he mumbles, muffled by his mouth pressed against his arm.

Patroclus pauses, pen hovering over his textbook. “Who?” 

“The boy.” Achilles smiles slightly. “The one you’re replacing me with.” 

“I’m not-” Patroclus huffs and pokes Achilles in the forehead with the butt of his pen, earning a half-hearted grunt in response. “You’re not being replaced. I don’t think anyone could compare to you and your insanity.” 

His smile grows wider. “Mm… but you didn’t answer my question.” 

Patroclus isn’t sure how many more details he could disclose to Achilles. His questions had gotten a lot more pointed as of late, and Patroclus just barely managed to answer them without giving away too much. Sooner rather than later he was going to have to fess up. “I do, yes,” Patroclus admits slowly. “Although not enough for my liking.” 

Achilles shifts so he’s leaning his head against Patroclus’ bicep instead. His golden curls splay across his friend’s shoulder. Patroclus feels like he cannot breathe, choking on the air caught in his throat. If he moves, Achilles will surely leave. This moment is as fragile as a butterfly’s wing. “Don’t spend less time with me.” His eyes flutter closed, and Achilles turns his face so it’s buried in Patroclus’ sleeve. “How am I to pass statistics if I lose you?” 

His weight against Patroclus' arm is comforting, more welcome than he could've ever imagined. It was rare for Achilles to be so… possessive. Even if it was because he was jealous of someone stealing his friend away from him, it was endearing. Patroclus loves this boy so dearly. 

"As if you'd ever let me go," he teases. "I'd have my Favorite Statistics Failure blowing up my phone." He lets himself have this small piece of paradise. Patroclus timidly lifts his other hand, the one not currently weighed down by a cute guy, and cards his fingers through Achilles' hair. His curls are wild but not tangled, and they're softer than Patroclus had dreamed of. 

Achilles hums in agreement, or possibly approval at the fingers gently tugging at his hair. Patroclus would like to think the latter. "You forgot the emojis," he says. "They add flare."

"Sorry, I mean Favorite Statistics Failure Heart, Sparkles, Eyes, Winky Face."

His friend nods. "Much better."

…

The weekend is the first one with nice weather since the beginning of winter. There isn’t a chill that bites through Patroclus as he makes his way to the pond with Achilles, their arms interlocked. His friend carries a tote bag with a blanket and some snacks they’d prepared. Achilles had been the one to suggest they have a picnic to celebrate the end of fall, and Patroclus couldn’t imagine any other way he would want to spend his Saturday.

It had been a surprise when Achilles stepped out of his dorm building and immediately hooked his arm through Patroclus’, but Patroclus had long since learned not to question any changes to Achilles’ behavior. He’d tilt his head and play dumb or, worse, grow agitated and shut down. Patroclus didn’t want to take any chances and ruin their outing together.

“Have you been to Theta Pond before?” Achilles asks, bumping his shoulder against Patroclus’.

Patroclus thinks hard. His first two years before Achilles came to campus had been packed with studying. He was too shy to go to any parties he had been invited to, and there was no significant other in his life. Patroclus’ only real friend he hung out with was Bri, and she had stopped inviting him out a while ago. “I don’t think so,” Patroclus admits. 

Achilles snorts in amusement. “It’s in the middle of campus! I would’ve thought even a stickler like you would take time to visit some of the sights. Where have you been going all this time?” 

_A stickler._ Patroclus frowns. He wasn’t that boring, was he? Achilles had stuck around after all. “It’s not near any of my classroom buildings,” he argues. “They put the pond near the psychology and business colleges. Discrimination against the pre-med students, I think.” His friend snickers in response, and Patroclus’ fear that he’s dull subsides. 

“Well, this undecided student is going to show you what a weekend without your nose in a book looks like.” Achilles pauses at the edge of the sidewalk. Just below, the ground dips downhill and towards a small pond. There’s rocks lining the edge, and a small bridge going across the water. It’s cute, but it’s nothing to write home about. Achilles looks much too excited to hang out around a glorified puddle.

Achilles untangles himself from Patroclus and pulls the blanket out of his bag. Without the warm body pressed against his own, Patroclus feels strangely cold. He stuffs his hands further into his jacket pockets and watches as Achilles spreads the fabric across the ground. As soon as it’s free of any wrinkles, Achilles flops onto his side. He pats the blanket beside him for Patroclus to join him.

“It’s colder by the water,” Patroclus comments, sitting down next to his friend. He hugs himself and tucks his chin against his chest. There’s a breeze coming off the pond that’s just barely bearable.

He feels a hand on his knee. Achilles presses down until Patroclus’ legs are flat on the ground. He nods in approval before resting his head on Patroclus’ thigh. Patroclus is grateful Achilles is looking away, because he knows his face is beet red. _Think good thoughts, Pat,_ his brain supplies helpfully. _Your grandma, dying puppies. Anything but Achilles two inches from your lap._

Achilles must have said something, because he turns slightly to give Patroclus a look- _really_ , like Patroclus was the one acting out of the ordinary. “Did you?”

“Did I what?” Patroclus says smartly.

His friend huffs in exasperation. “Did you want to eat now? I’m starving.” He was absolutely insufferable.

Patroclus had packed them both sandwiches and a small array of fruits. It was a little domestic, he would admit, but he didn’t mind making Achilles lunch. His friend was always grateful for everything Patroclus did for him, and Patroclus secretly liked the excited gleam in Achilles’ eyes when he praised him. 

They eat in silence, Achilles with one elbow across Patroclus’ lap propping him up and Patroclus leaning back on one hand. The pond laps softly at the shore and moves pebbles around. There’s little fish in the water that Patroclus watches with mild interest, and a family of ducks have slowly made their way towards the pair, nibbling at the grass with their beaks searching for bugs.

Achilles breaks off a piece of bread from his sandwich and tosses it to the ducks. They freeze at first, but after one of them snatches up the crumbs and gobbles it down, the rest follow suit. “You shouldn’t feed them bread,” Patroclus says. “It can make them sick.”

“A little piece here and there isn’t going to kill them,” Achilles objects. Just to make his point, he throws another small bit of crust at the birds.

“No, here-” Patroclus reaches into the tote bag and pulls out a baggie of bird seed. “This is actually made for them.” 

Achilles takes the bag and stares down at it for a long moment. “You just… carry birdseed around with you?”

Patroclus coughs into his fist. It was a little weird, he’d admit. “I like to feed the pigeons sometimes,” he mutters. “And the geese.” He didn’t want to sound any stranger than he already did, but Patroclus had managed to befriend some of the wildlife on campus. There were a pair of geese that he passed every morning that he spread some seed for, and there was a little squirrel that always came down from its tree outside the biology department when it saw Patroclus. 

God, he sounded less like a man and more like some sort of Disney princess.

Achilles is looking at Patroclus very intensely. “You’re absolutely wonderful,” he says very suddenly out of nowhere. It makes Patroclus’ eyes widen. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Be-Because I feed some birds?” He’s at a loss for words. Achilles had been acting so differently lately, and this felt like some sort of breaking point. Truthfully, Patroclus had been a little nervous when his friend invited him for a walk. They didn’t normally hang out on the weekends, what with Patroclus studying and Achilles going to frat parties. Maybe now was when Achilles would tell him what’s up. Or… Patroclus would finally get the courage to say how he feels, although his mind is fogged over with Achilles so in his personal space.

His friend shakes his head. Achilles has that same frustration on his face as before, when he’d asked questions about Patroclus’ crush. Come to think of it, he hadn’t brought it up in a few days. “No, I-” He sits up and lays his legs out over Patroclus’ thighs. Their faces are only inches apart, and it takes an effort not to glance down at Achilles’ lips as he continues to speak. “What’s your family like?”

“What? My family?” What an odd change in subjects. Patroclus had never really spoken to Achilles about his home life before. He had never seen the reason to, since he lived close by the college for the past semester and not with his parents. “My, uh… My mom is in a group home,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s never been entirely there, you know? In the head. My dad didn’t want to take care of her, so she’s somewhere where nurses can look after her and she can’t hurt herself.” 

Usually when he told that story, Patroclus would get pitied looks and awkward apologies. Achilles only nods in understanding, like it makes perfect sense. Did it? Did Patroclus seem like he came from a broken home? “And your dad?”

“He…” Patroclus makes a small noise in the back of his throat. He hated thinking about the man that raised him. Less of a father and more of a strict disciplinarian always breathing down his throat. “He never really liked me. I didn’t get into sports and I never brought home a girlfriend. I think he wished he had a different son- well, no, I know he does.” He can still hear his father berating him in the back of his mind. _You’re no son of mine._

Well, that was alright then. Patroclus was perfectly fine on his own.

Achilles tips his head to one side. “Did it ever get better?” he asks. He sounds so genuine that Patroclus can’t be mad at the sudden invasion of privacy. They were friends, after all, so it only made sense he’d eventually tell Achilles his life. 

“No, not really,” Patroclus admits. “I went to college and I think he was relieved he could finally pretend I didn’t exist. We don’t talk much, save for holidays.” If they even saw each other, that is. Last holiday season, Patroclus had stayed in his dorm and invited Bri over for Christmas eve before she went home to her family. It was lonelier that way, but also so much freer. 

“Does he know you like boys?” 

Patroclus stares at Achilles. He expects some sort of taunt to follow that, or a look of disgust in his eyes, but he just looks curious. “Yeah,” Patroclus swallows. “I think it just added insult to injury. He didn’t, like, tell me off or anything, but he sighed and looked so disappointed.” Even now, the memory makes his gut twist with misplaced guilt. It had taken a few years of therapy to even start to get over the feeling that there was something inherently wrong with him. “Why so many questions today, Achilles?” He’s feeling a little bit defensive. It’s like Achilles had cut him open and exposed all his sensitive parts.

Of course, Achilles never answered questions the way Patroclus wished he did. Instead, he tells his own story in reply. “My dad is pretty cool,” he starts, hugging his knees and looking at the ducks tearing apart his bread. “He was, like, a big macho guy or whatever. Quarterback for his football team in highschool and in college.” His head is so close to Patroclus’. He wants to press his forehead to Achilles’ temple and feel the vibrations of his voice as he talks. Instead, Patroclus takes a pinchful of birdseed and tosses it to the grass in front of him.

The ducks abandon Achilles’ bread and start to peck at the bird food instead. Patroclus smiles at the small victory, and Achilles only rolls his eyes in response

“So I was supposed to follow in his footsteps, you know?” Achilles rests his head against Patroclus’ shoulder. That works too, Patroclus supposes. He could smell Achilles’ shampoo so close to his nose. It was almost suffocating. “Be some star athlete and whatnot. I mean, that was cool and all. I like sports. I did track and field in high school and got a scholarship here. He was kinda sad I didn’t get into football, but Dad was still happy I was at least doing something” 

He hesitates. “But?” Patroclus prompts.

“But my _mom_ ,” Achilles breathes, his eyes widening at the mention of his other parent, “nothing was ever good enough for her. I’d get a gold medal at a meet and she’d tell me off for an hour about how I should’ve broken a record. I’d practice until I passed out, and I’d wake up to her demanding I go back outside and jog around the block some more.”

Patroclus aches for him. He sounds so pained. Achilles always loved telling him about his track meets, and Patroclus realizes it must be because Patroclus was always proud of the victories he did achieve, not the ones that he thought Achilles should have been able to reach. It must be so different than when he was home. Patroclus was the support that he had sought after as a child but never received, he realizes with a pang in his heart.

“She didn’t _not_ like me, but I don’t think she loved me. Not really.” Achilles waits for Patroclus to throw another bit of seed at the birds before continuing. It gave them something to watch while Achilles spoke. Patroclus had the feeling that Achilles didn’t want to meet his gaze while admitting so much about his home life. “She just always thought I could do better.”

“You’re fine the way you are,” Patroclus insists. Achilles flashes him a small smile before tucking his head back against Patroclus’ shoulder. 

“It got worse when I told her I liked boys as well as girls,” he explains. “My mom had already planned out my entire life for me: a college career based on sports, a job position at my dad’s company, a nice wife that could bear boys to carry on my legacy. I think the thought of that being ruined drove her up the wall.” 

Patroclus feels sick to his stomach. How could anyone possibly not see that Achilles was perfect? That this golden boy was everything a person should be and then some? 

Achilles exhales slowly. “So I wasn’t allowed to hang out with guys outside of my own house. I was only really allowed to leave to go to practice, and even then she kept an eye on me.” He looks away. “She was a teacher at my high school, so I wasn’t even safe there. I knew she was always just around the corner watching.”

The ducks quack in disapproval at the lack of food being thrown their way. Achilles reaches into the baggie and tosses them some so they stop making noise.

“I got a scholarship at a school all the way across the country and left as soon as I possibly could, but I still never felt safe. I still thought I’d see her across the street glaring at me, or have her barge into my room and tell me I’m not trying hard enough.” Achilles takes his head away from Patroclus’ shoulder and looks at him very seriously. His eyes are shining with something Patroclus can’t quite place. “Until I met you.”

“Me?” But Patroclus was just a tutor, one more student that would graduate this place and leave no legacy to his name. He didn’t think badly of himself, but he wasn’t anything more than average. 

Achilles nods excitedly. “Yeah, you.” He begins to smile. “You made it feel like I could breathe again. Hanging out with you was like I was finally living.” 

Patroclus is wide-eyed with confusion. “Is statistics really that great?” he whispers.

His friend throws his head back and laughs. It’s loud and rings clearly through the quiet air. The ducks ruffle their feathers in fright and waddle away quickly at the noise. Patroclus doesn’t remember ever hearing anything more wonderful. “No!” Achilles giggles. “No, no. I like just being with _you_. You’re always so laidback and funny and really cute, you know?” 

Cute? Patroclus feels his face grow warm with embarrassment. He’s not used to being complimented at all, even after being Achilles’ friend for so long. It almost feels wrong, but Patroclus doesn’t want it to stop.

“So when you started talking about someone else, I got jealous,” Achilles finally admits. His face falls like it did the first time Patroclus had described how handsome the boy was- how handsome _Achilles_ was. “Someone else was taking you away from me, and I guess I realized just how much you meant to me.” He turns to face Patroclus fully. His eyes flit down to Patroclus’ lips and back up to his eyes. “How much I don’t want to lose you.” 

Patroclus doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath.

He isn’t sure who moves in first, but one moment they’re looking at each other, and the next Patroclus has his fingers in Achilles’ hair and their lips are slotted together. Achilles makes a small noise in surprise and Patroclus worries he must have taken this all the wrong way, but Achilles wraps his arms around his shoulders and smooshes their noses together until it’s almost painful. Patroclus keeps an arm around his waist to hold Achilles in place. He’s never letting him go, he’s decided. Not now, not ever. He grips his golden locks tighter and leans his head back just enough to catch his breath.

“Oh,” Achilles murmurs. Their lips brush against each other when he speaks. “Wait. Am I the boy?” 

Patroclus scoffs. “Of _course_ you’re the boy.” He kisses him again, his hands moving to cup Achilles’ face. His cheeks are so soft and warm, flushed from the wind coming off the lake. 

Achilles huffs through his nose in annoyance, his breath puffing against Patroclus’ face. “Well you could have just said so,” he grumbles when Patroclus lets him up for air once more.

“I _tried_.” Achilles looks unconvinced. “Really?” Patroclus says incredulously. “Sporty? Blond hair? Tall? Musician? Someone I’m always hanging out with? Not my major- or any major, actually. I was practically spelling it out for you.”

“You never actually confirmed the musician thing,” Achilles points out.

Patroclus groans in response and presses his face into Achilles’ neck. He was in love with a total moron. “As if I could even like anyone but you.” Achilles holds him tighter in response. 

They stay embraced for a short while until Achilles climbs onto his lap and kisses him deeper than before. Patroclus is convinced this is how he’ll die. He feels like all he’s ever known is the shape of Achilles’ lips against his own, the strong hand on the back of his neck keeping him from backing away. Eventually, Achilles guides Patroclus onto his back, and Patroclus keeps a hold of him with one hand gripping his thigh tightly. 

“I didn’t even know you liked guys,” Patroclus admits breathlessly when Achilles moves to kiss his exposed collarbone. 

Achilles hums in response. “No, just this one guy,” he teases. “He’s really cool. Maybe you can ask me a million questions about him and I’ll give you vague and completely useless answers-”’ 

“ _Enough_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!! i have one more little one-shot planned for this au but i want it to be its own separate thing.
> 
> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kenzsza) or [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kenzsza) for updates or just for fun :)

**Author's Note:**

> [follow me on twitter!](https://twitter.com/kenzsza)


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